


Mrs. Dieingly Sad

by saccharinescorpio



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Like seriously OOC, OOC, amanda had BPD, mute!michael myers, welcome to rare pair hell, you can see the relationship however you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saccharinescorpio/pseuds/saccharinescorpio
Summary: The wind picks up an hour into their walk. They aimlessly wander through the various attractions until Amanda stops in front of a mostly deserted indoor arcade. Sitting in the back unattended was a vacant row of skee ball machines. She peers up at him with a cocky look.“Bet I could kick your ass in a game of skee ball.”Michael and Amanda go to the beach.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Amanda Young
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Mrs. Dieingly Sad

**Author's Note:**

> I want to quickly state before getting into the actual author's note that if I depicted anything wrong PLEASE let me know. This my first time writing a character with BPD and a mute character that signs. Any corrections or tips would be greatly appreciated, thank you!  
> I've been wanting to post this for a while and I know it's incredibly rare but I hope you enjoy reading it anyways. If characterization is off I haven't seen Saw or Halloween yet so my apologies. Title is from the song Mr. Dieingly Sad by The Critters.  
> Please enjoy!

__

_"You're so mystifyingly glad,_

_I'm Mr Dieingly Sad…”_

Amanda was _pissed_ if Michael’s swollen jaw was any indication of that.

Pissed was an understatement. She was fuming, _infuriated_. Who does he think he is forcing himself into her house and _demanding_ she gets up and changes so they can go to the _beach?_

Daffodil blonde hair is in a messy ponytail while they're driving down the turnpike, the car sitting in a heavy silence.

“I’m not sorry.”

He glances at her quickly before returning to look at the road. Shrugging, he drags an open palm down inches from his face. When she doesn't respond he makes a fist, tucks his thumb in, and finishes with an ‘o’ shape with his pointer finger sticking up.

S-A-D

Amanda side-eyes him with a dirty look. “I’m not sad, shut up.”

He gestures at her before outlining the vague shape of a house, accompanied by another fist, two ‘l’s’ and hooking his index across his forehead.

_You’ve been in the house all summer._

_“And?_ Why the hell does it matter to you?! You’re not John, you’re not Jill, I’m not some- some child that needs to be looked after! God, I can’t believe you think I can’t take care of myself.”

Michael’s brow pinches. Waving his hand in a downward motion he ends by twirling his finger near his chest and pulling out.

_I never signed that._

Amanda huffs in disgust. Arms pulled tight over her chest she stares out the window. “Whatever.”

He has a hopeful smile as he pushes himself into her space over the centre console. He’s not even halfway through his sign when she gives a violent shove back.

“Get the _hell_ away from me, I don’t want you anywhere near me right now.”

The strained quietness plays for background noise. 

The ride lasts another hour and a half and Michael isn’t thankful enough when it ends.

The sound of the beach isn’t far off, colliding waves and cawing seagulls are heard from the parking lot as salt gently scents the air. It’s not unbearably hot but Michael sweats at the sight of Amanda in her zipped up hoodie. His thumb swipes underneath his chin and flicks a claw away from his mouth in question.

_You’re not hot?_

Hair bobs with her head shake. “Nope. Where do you wanna go first?” Amanda’s smile is small although her eyes have a tired quality to them. Michael inwardly sighs in relief.

His hands flap in front of him. _Boardwalk?_

Her grin widens. “Sounds good.”

The wind picks up an hour into their walk. They aimlessly wander through the various attractions until Amanda stops in front of a mostly deserted indoor arcade except for a child at the pinball machine and the group crowding the air hockey table. Sitting in the back unattended was a vacant row of skee ball machines. She peers up at him with a cocky look.

“Bet I could kick your ass in a game of skee ball.”

Michael huffs in amusement, purposely knocking into her as he made his way into the arcade. She hits back playfully as she follows him.

Coming back with faux coins he hands her some before placing his own into the slot. The balls clatter into the opening and Michael immediately starts shooting. Not far behind Amanda grabs one of the smooth balls in a firm grip and bowls.

The timer goes off 30 seconds later as she stands back to look at her score. In large, cherry-red the numbers read 250 while his screen displays a 110.

The smug expression takes up her entire face. He obnoxiously stretches in her space as his fingers pinch twice.

_Good game._

She bats at his arm. “I went _easy_ on you, I’m the skeeball champ.”

He bends down to pluck at the blue tickets curling from both dispensaries. There’s easily not enough for a good reward but if they’re lucky maybe a few pieces of candy for a consolation prize. Amanda would even settle for one of those cheap plastic rings.

Michael drops the scant pile on the counter in front of the bored employee. Manually counting them they recite the list of prizes the pair can receive.

“You can get this,” a rounded nail taps at the glass above the spider rings, “this,” the assorted penny candy, “this,” fake glasses with a nose and moustache, “or this.” They close with the tiny divider filled with stuffed cats half the size of her palm.

“I want a cat.”

“What colour?”

The choice is instantaneous. “Yellow.”

Reaching in the employee grabs the first banana-coloured plush they see and places it on the scratched glass cover.

It _is_ rather cute. The body’s soft and round with large lapis eyes and sewn on whiskers. Amanda squeezes it once when she picks it up from the counter.

She holds the stuffed animal up to Michael when they step outside again. “For you.” 

Michael plucks it from her light grasp and turns it over to examine.

“Are you going to name it?”

He traces a line from his cheek that hooks down at his lips.

_Red._

She pins him with an annoyed expression. “Are you serious?”

His nose wrinkles. 

“Does that name not mean anything to you? Do _I_ not mean anything to you?”

_Oh no._

His signs are frantic. A thumb comes from underneath his chin, a middle finger poking his chest before connecting with his middle and with a pinky sticking out he pounds at his open palm.

_It’s not like that._

“Oh, it’s _not_?” Amanda’s face is pink from anger. “Then why are you giving it _my_ name? You _don’t_ care!”

His hands curve away and he points down.

_Calm down._

“Do _not_ tell me to calm down! I’m sick of you treating me this way! You hate me! You can’t _stand_ me! And you know what? I can’t stand _you_ either.”

Amanda’s visibly shaking, her chest rising from deep breathing. She takes a step closer as Michael watches her in shock.

“You’re an awful person.”

When he goes to sign her name she turns around and lumbers further down the boardwalk.

“ _Don’t_ follow me, I’ll find a way to get home.”

He’s stone still as he stares at her retreating back, cat resting in a loose hold.

Michael finds her after a two-hour search, slouching on the bench across from the mobile petting zoo. Amanda’s vacantly watching the yelling children play with the goats.

He picks his next move carefully. Approaching slowly, he sits on the opposite side of her. She looks _exhausted._

“What?” Amanda even sounds drained. 

He taps his fingers on his mouth.

_Food?_

She shrugs dejectedly. “I guess.”

Standing up he ambles over and pats at her arm. Michael’s finger arcs and he taps at his wrist.

_Come on._

Amanda rises sluggishly, shuffling alongside him as Michael steers them to the closest snack shack.

She squints at the menu from the back of the line. “What do you want?”

Pinching the air in a curve, he signs towards her. _French fries, you?_

“Maybe fried dough. With cinnamon and sugar.”

The wait is quiet until she orders for both of them and gets their food 10 minutes later.

The pair eats underneath spruce blue, peachy clouds blotting out the dimming sky. Amanda’s gaze remains downcast as she tears at the white powdered dough. Reaching over his thumb skims across her knuckles.

She looks up.

The smile he gives isn’t genuine; his lips are tight and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His hand leaves his mouth.

_Is it good?_

“Oh yeah-” She swallows and it doesn’t go down easy. “It’s good, thank you.”

There’s another break of silence when she speaks up. “We should go to the beach after.”

Fingers wave over knuckles. _The beach?_

She doesn’t meet his gaze as she rips another bit of dough off. “Why not? A walk then we can go home.”

Michael doesn’t answer after that, too busy dragging a greasy fry through a puddle of salted ketchup.

The bruised sky is swarmed with heavy grey clouds by the time they begin their stroll. The evening darkness sparked the boardwalk to light up, amusement rides twinkled neon in the cold night and painted the nearby water with similar colours.

They make their way down the coast leisurely, rolling waves filling the empty space between them.

Amanda clings to his arm, resting her head on a pale bicep.

“I’m sorry.”

His reply isn’t instant so she tries again.

“I’m sorry, Michael.” It comes out watery.

He tries to pull away but her grip becomes vice-like.

“I’m sorry for today, I’m sorry for yelling at you, I’m sorry for punching you. 

“You didn’t deserve any of what I did to you. You were just trying to help and I treated you like _shit_. You’re a wonderful person and you care _so_ much and I don’t _deserve_ any of it. Michael, please forgive me.” Her hands are trembling.

She peels her face back and it’s wet with tears. Puffy eyes regard Michael with desperate sadness that pierces through him.

He makes direct eye contact with her as his fingers sweep his palm and a finger hooks across his cheek and down his chin.

_I forgive you, Red._

That starts a fresh onslaught of tears and she launches herself into Michael’s arms, sobbing into his chest. He cradles her in a full-body hug as the seawater laps soundless at their feet.

The rain steadily pours just as his car barely hits the highway. The sky’s a shade of inky black as they drive back home, Amanda’s sleeping hand intertwined with his own. The toy cat sits in the corner of his dash with its permanent grin. His thumb strokes at warm skin.

All was content.

_“I’m so mystifyingly glad,_

_not Mr Dieingly Sad…”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
